Russian roulette - an extra bullet
by ThreeMagpies
Summary: A Revolution fic (Blackout AU) Charloe. After Gould's game of Russian roulette between Bass and Charlie was interrupted by the patriots invading New Vegas, what if it was Duncan's men who captured Monroe instead of the bounty hunters? Would Charlie follow him? And what would Gould do about it?


**Russian Roulette - an extra bullet.**

A Revolution fic (Blackout AU) Charloe. After Gould's game of Russian roulette between Bass and Charlie was interrupted by the patriots invading New Vegas, what if it was Duncan's men who captured Monroe instead of the bounty hunters? Would Charlie follow him? And what would Gould do about it?

…..

AN: Thanks for having a look at this :) Sometimes stories just call out to tell you there's more, this one did. Hope you enjoy it, cheers, Magpie.

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Part 1.

Gould was pissed again. After his game of Russian roulette starring Jimmy and the little blond hellion had gone totally pear shaped when the fucking Patriots turned up before the big finale and everyone had to disappear real quick or be conscripted, he and Buck had spotted two of his main competitor and fellow New Vegas entrepreneur, warlord and all round jealous bitch Duncan Page's guys grab Jimmy, knock him out and put him into a wagon.

Now Jimmy was worth diamonds to Gould in a big, big way and there was no way he was letting Duncan bandido her way into that bit of action, so he had Buck go find any of their men still in town and follow the wagon to go kidnap Jimmy back.

It didn't even enter his head that the blond hellion might have the very same idea. Or that she had a head start.

…

It was just on dark and lamps were lit around the camp creating little islands of flying bug swirling light across the sprawling clan compound and casting flickering shadows that trembled in the light evening breeze and joined the shadows cast by roaring campfires and cookstoves. The tantalising aromas of roast meat, hot, spiced soup floated on the breeze along with the smokey tang of tobacco and sweetgrass...

Charlie was hidden under the now empty wagon and was lying on her belly mourning the loss of her crossbow and knives, left behind in New Vegas in Gould's fucking fight tent. She sighed, tore off a mouthful from the strip of jerky in her hand with strong, white teeth and chewed, trying to pretend it was a chunk of that roast meat, wriggling a little to get a bit more comfortable on the stony ground. At least she'd managed to grab her pack as she left and had her binoculars, a good supply of the jerky, her water bottle and a few other useful little items that Gould's goons had missed.

She watched as the two guys from the wagon carried a slumped and still unconscious Monroe into the biggest tent of what had to be the clans main camp, the display of weapons, bones and garish banners draped between the tents kind of a dead giveaway. The men had come back out after a few minutes and gone to talk to a tall, dark haired woman wearing a to die for leather jacket and matching swords who'd been talking to a group of clan people a little way away from the door of the tent. From the way the men were fawning on her the woman had to be some kind of leader, and there was a smug smile on the hard, attractive face that had Charlie's hands curling into fists just wishing she could knock it off.

She chewed, debating what to do although there was only one real option, all things considered.

She could go back the way she came and leave Monroe to whatever fate the woman had planned for him which given the odds against a successful rescue would be keeping her stupid to an acceptable minimum on the Miles meter. She could do that, and part of her would be quite happy to do it, except for the fact that her annoyingly persistent sense of justice, obviously inherited from her dad as it definitely wasn't one of her mom's strong points kept reminding her that Monroe had saved her life back there in New Vegas.

He could've just left her tied up in that tent to be killed or worse by Gould and his friends, or captured by the patriots - and judging by the way everyone in New Vegas had panicked at the prospect, that would be bad, very bad…But he didn't. He came back for her.

So she owed him a rescue. Big time. Once she'd rescued him though, all bets were off and there'd be no reason she couldn't kill him.

Was there?

She swallowed as her belly went tight and a ripple of something a long way from homicidal went zooming south because for some reason whenever she thought of Monroe now, her brain conjured up images of sculpted abs, dirty blond curls, stunningly wicked blue eyes and wild, sweaty and unrestrained sex instead of her previous favourite day dream of sticking a knife into his heart. She took a deep breath. Damn it, why did he have this effect on her? Why couldn't he look like a peanut?

She pulled it together and checked on what was happening.

The hard faced woman was still smiling as she stalked into the tent, leaving the two guys on guard outside but she came back out again a couple of minutes later wearing a disappointed scowl and saying something to the guards that Charlie couldn't catch but that she guessed was along the lines of 'let me know when he wakes up.' Then she marched off, leaving the two men behind.

Charlie looked around, there were a few people still in sight, occupied with one task or another, but most of the clan seemed to be gathered around the big cook fires off at the other side of camp out of sight of the tent. She could see figures moving in the lamplight, hear voices and someone singing along to a guitar.

It was time to make a move. Charlie gathered her crap and crawled out from under the wagon, using it as cover while she double checked her plan, then, moving from cover to cover and keeping to the shadows she got to the back of the tent without being noticed. Using her sharpest knife she picked at a seam until there was a slit deep enough for her to fit through, and to get Monroe out later.

Inside, it wasn't as dark as she'd feared. There were lamps set up around the high, angled walls of the tent and the place looked quite comfortable with old rugs and colourful blankets covering the dirt floor and draped around the walls. A steel framed bed with a real mattress piled high with blankets, furs and cushions was to one side, with a screened off privacy section next to it. A few easy chairs and a low table were set up nearby, separated from the bed by a carved wooden screen. Then over on one side of the door, there were a couple of business like desks covered in scrolls, books and writing materials with messenger bags leaning against the legs and a wooden chair slid neatly under the bigger desk.

On the other side was a weapons rack laden with a collection of guns, swords, staves, throwing stars, bows, nunchucks and other things that Charlie couldn't definitely identify but totally appreciated. She stepped forwards, footsteps silent on the rugs, her fingers reaching out to stroke the stock of a really beautiful bow, more than a little envious. The woman had great taste in weapons.

There was a groan from the far side of the tree trunk sized hunk of timber that served as the central pole.

Shit. She'd almost forgotten why she was here. Charlie tore her eyes and fingers away from the weapons, backed up and took cover behind the rack just in case the guys at the door'd heard Monroe. They obviously weren't worth their pay though because no one appeared. She kept an eye out anyway as she hurried up to the pole.

Monroe was tied to it, slumped over but held up by the thick ropes around his chest and thighs. He'd obviously fought pretty hard along the way because his shirt was ripped nearly off and open at the front which meant the ropes were biting deep into the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked bloodied, bruised and hardly capable of moving on his own, let alone helping her help him escape.

He moaned again, but quietly this time, thank God.

Shit. Time to get moving… She blew out a breath then got up close and put her hand over his mouth, hard, just in case he made more noise when he woke up.

Bloodshot blue eyes opened wide and stared blankly into hers for a few milliseconds before recognition and surprise in equal amounts blossomed and his pupils flared dark. Then he looked away, gaze darting round the space, taking it all in before returning to hers. His lips moved against her palm, scruff tickling her skin. 'Where?' His voice was cracked and hoarse, dry as dust.

She shook her head and held on tighter, tipping her head towards the door. 'Shh…'

He went very still, then nodded, slowly and straightened up, leaning against the pole and her, wincing as the ropes pinched his skin.

The soft flesh of her wrist and underarm was suddenly pressed up against the hard velvet warmth of his chest above the ropes, her breasts mashed against his side and there was a moment when she got caught in the blue of his eyes, almost disappeared into them like the time she'd been hunting in the mountains and stumbled onto the trail of a white wolf with eyes blue as the sky and as wild. Beautiful…

She sucked in a breath and let go of his mouth and the memory with a twinge of regret, her fingers clinging a little to his lips even though she told them not to, her hand sliding down over the slick skin of his chest and her heart pounding and belly tight with tension and excitement. She pulled in another breath, dragged her hand away from him then reached down into her pack for one of her spare blades.

He was breathing hard too, watching her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world. 'Why?'

She glanced up at him then started on the ropes. 'You're mine, Monroe. No one's killing you but me.' Then as the first strand fell away she felt him freeze.

'Well isn't this sweet?' The voice came from the door, female, amused and as hard as a steel trap.

Monroe closed his eyes, his head falling back against the pole. 'Duncan. Fuck…'

….

AN: Thanks so much for reading :) There's one more part to this and it's coming very soon, I promise. Cheers, Magpie.


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